Unsteady Ground
by TARDISTraveller
Summary: Prompt from Doctorwithaspoon on AO3. The Doctor and Clara are in San Francisco in 1906 to see a lovely performance of Carmen, Clara's favorite play, at the Palace Hotel. It's a perfect retreat. But trouble is coming. This is the day of the earthquake, and the fire. And the Doctor and Clara are right in the middle of it.
1. Chapter 1

Unsteady Ground

 **Chapter One**

"Carmen?"

The Doctor rolled out from underneath the console holding two pieces of wire in his fingers. Above him, Clara set her purse down and danced around the space in an after-work daze.

"I've always loved the music from it," she replied, leaning on the Console and smiling into the air of the time machine.

The Doctor fixed the wires back into the Console and got to his feet. The slight frown on his face brought out a smile on Clara's.

"What?"

He shook his head, pretending to check the controls. "Nothing; just...I thought you might."

Before Clara could ask anything further, the Doctor turned a few dials and put his hand on the red lever of the takeoff switch. Clara grabbed hold of the console and gazed up at the Time Rotor as it groaned and heaved up and down. The ship was prepared to take flight.

"I've got just the performance," the Doctor said with a smile. His hand still playfully rested on the lever, ready to start their journey at any moment. "San Francisco. 1906. The Metropolitan Opera is performing Carmen tonight at the Palace Hotel."

Clara returned the smile. "Sounds perfect."

The Doctor pulled down the lever, and the ship went careening off into the time vortex, bouncing and reeling. The two travellers whooped with laughter and excitement, unable to contain their joy as the ship lurched them almost off of their feet. This was what all this was for; the adventure and the wondrous fun of it all. This was what made it worth the monsters and the dangers.

. . .

Clara exited the theatre with tears in her eyes and a warm glow coming from her chest, radiating through her body. "That was...amazing."

The Doctor let her arm wrap through his and her head rest on his shoulder. "Yeah?" He asked. Clara met his eyes.

"Thank you for bringing me."

"Of course. Can't go to the opera alone, can I?"

Clara smiled, nudged his shoulder. "I wouldn't trust you anywhere on your own."

She suddenly yawned deeply, nearly stumbling into a wall. The Doctor pulled her back upright.

"I can't trust you on your own either tonight." He smirked. "Come on, better get you to bed."

Clara leaned her head further into his shoulder, even as they walked through the halls of the hotel, away from the crowds. "I'm not ready to go home yet."

"Not home; upstairs."

A smirk danced over Clara's lips. "Doctor, did you just invite me up to a hotel room with you?"

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "Well, yes. You need to sleep, don't you?" Clara nudged his arm again, and he rolled his eyes. "Humans..always making things awkward with your double entendres."

He led her, at times more or less pulling her as she fell asleep, down a few more halls and up a tall staircase, which led to one last hallway flanked by rooms on both sides. From his pocket he withdrew a key and unlocked their door.

Clara's eyes were half-closed, her feet dragging. The Doctor smiled at her drooping, snoring lips and scooped her into a bridal carry. She merely closed her eyes and took hold of his shirt in her fingers. The Doctor couldn't help but smile.

Carefully, he carried her to the bed and set her down. He pondered taking her shoes off, or waking her so she could brush her teeth and do all of the other human bedtime rituals, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he covered her with blankets, making sure that they covered the entirety of her small frame.

When she was properly in bed, albeit still dressed and face painted, the Doctor backed away. "Goodnight, Clara," he whispered.

As quietly as he could, he ambled across the room to a chair sitting beside a bookcase. An old copy of Les Miserables sat on the highest shelf, taunting him. The Doctor smiled and cast a glance at the sleeping Clara. "Guess I've got time to read this. I hope it's as good as you said it was."

. . .

Five hours later, the Doctor closed the book. His eyes lifted, glazed over, looking around the silent room in a daze. His mind played back scenes from the French Revolution. Of course he'd been there in real life, among the young men at the barricade. Then he thought of Jean Valjean, the criminal who was better than most men the Doctor had met. There was something about this book that had touched him deeply. Clara had been right; it was a masterpiece.

The Doctor placed the book back on its shelf and stood. The clock on the table read nearly 5 A.M. Morning was breaking through the window in shards of light, draping over Clara's form as she continued to dream.

A smile came to the Doctor's lips again. Sometimes the adventures were great because of all of the danger and the adrenaline; the running and the solving mysteries. But sometimes...sometimes the best moments were the quiet ones, like these. The warm, simple joy that came from merely existing. Merely sensing the world. Merely being alive.

The Doctor folded his hands into his pockets and exited the room, returning to the hallway. The early morning played even against these walls, creating shadows but also rays of bright yellow that cut across the doorways. Starting down the steps, the Doctor started to notice everything. He could hear the people still sleeping in room 304. A man stood leaned against a wall on the second floor, a cigarette in between his fingers. The gray smoke rose through the stairwell, making the Doctor cough.

When he arrived at the base of the staircase, it was to another scene of 5 O'Clock human life. He was growing increasingly suspicious that perhaps 5 O'Clock wasn't actually a time, but actually a state of mind. The two faces he passed in this next hallway, belonging to a cleaning woman and one of the hotel managers, both seemed as out of focus as he knew himself to be.

Only when he reached the atrium did life seem real. A few carriages passed outside, their drivers shouting loudly at, presumedly, a young boy who had run across the street. The Doctor stopped as the boy burst into the atrium, an anxious but satisfied grin on his face. The boy tipped his cap at the Doctor.

"Sir," he said, snatching an apple out of his jacket pocket. The Doctor nodded, watching the boy pass until he was in the center of the atrium.

"Early riser?"

The boy stopped and turned, swallowing a large chunk of his apple. "You too, it looks like." He wiped his hand across his mouth. "Where are you from?"

The Doctor smirked. "Mostly just a traveller. You?"

The boy shrugged. "Likewise." He gestured loosely toward the upstairs. "My dad works for the opera. My mom and I are along for the ride, I guess." He bit his apple again. "Not such a bad life. Never gets boring."

"Oh?"

The boy shrugged again. "I keep myself occupied."

The Doctor's eye danced over the apple. "The shops aren't open yet, are they?"

The boy finished the apple and tossed the core into the closest trash bin. He wiped his hands and returned to the center of the atrium, putting his hands up. "I don't steal from anyone, if that's worrying you. I just grab the leftovers before they end up in the trash. Counter-capitalism, you can call it."

The Doctor looked over the boy. His cap was a size too big and his shoes were twice that. "What's your name?"

"George. Yours?"

"The Doctor."

George scoffed. "What kind of a name is that?"

"Mine."

George rolled his eyes playfully, but dropped the subject. He kicked a few dust bunnies before turning toward the hallway. "Hey, er, it was nice meeting you and everything. I better get back before my parents wake up. They're a nightmare when they can't find me in the morning."

The Doctor shook his head with a smile. "I'll see you later, George."

George held up a hand as a wave and started toward the staircase.

Just then, the ground started shaking.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Doctor's eyes widened, meeting George's with a cool but incurably curious shine.

George stopped, frozen to the spot in front of the stairs as he watched them tremor. "Er, Doctor?"

"Earthquake."

George stepped back until he was next to the Doctor again, nearly tripping as the floor shook and jerked. Across the hall, a painting crashed from the wall. The Doctor looked up at the high ceiling and found pieces crumbling down, a light shower of dust. Kicking his brain into action, he spun around and took account of everything in the room.

"George, get under the concierge desk."

The boy obeyed without hesitation. When he was situated with his legs crossed and eyes wide, the Doctor gave him a reassuring nod of the head.

"I'll go find out what's going on."

As the Doctor turned to go, George called out, "Wait, Doctor."

The Doctor returned to the boy's side and found him trembling. That smirk the boy had been wearing so confidently was replaced with a frown. Suddenly he seemed a few years younger, more of a boy than an almost teenager. The Doctor bent down to his level.

"Okay; I'll stay close. I won't leave the room."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

George smiled and leaned back, getting more comfortable in the crowded space under the desk. With him settled, the Doctor straightened up and searched the room for others. The smoker and the cleaning lady were glancing around themselves and up at the ceiling in confusion.

"Are either of you injured?" The Doctor asked. The smoker took a drag of his cigarette as the woman beside him shook her head. "Good. Okay. Try to get out as soon as you can. And tell other people to get out as well."

They left the room immediately, pulling along a young security guard who had ambled into the atrium from one of the hallways. The Doctor turned back to George and found him smiling again.

"How did you do that?" George asked.

"Do what?"

"Get them to listen to you."

The Doctor heard footsteps and went to the staircase, where a couple of tenagers were shakily making their way down the steps. Both of them were still in their pajamas. The Doctor quietly explained where to go and directed them out the door.

He turned back to George. "Guess I just have the gift of persuasion. I can make anyone do anything; except when I can't," he added with a shrug.

The Doctor and George were suddenly thrown to the floor as another wave of powerful energy rocked through the building. The very walls seemed to be vibrating; a few paintings and mirrors crashing and shattering to the floor. The Doctor managed to make eye contact with George for just a moment. The boy's eyes were wide and fearful again. They turned quickly up to the ceiling and grew even wider.

"Doctor!"

The Doctor followed the boy's gaze and gaped. The ceiling was crumbling; falling. Dust rained down as large chunks of the ceiling split apart and divided. A few of the larger pieces thudded to the ground just between the Doctor and the desk under which George was still hidden.

The Doctor shifted back as quickly as he could, pushing himself across the floor using his hands. His eyes were locked on the space eyes above.

"George, stay under the table."

The Doctor slowly started pushing himself off of the floor again, but another small jolt sent him right onto his back again. Before he could even open his eyes, he heard something break off above him and begin plummeting. A moment later, he felt an immensely heavy weight land across his legs.

His eyes shot open, vision blurred around the edges as he took in the dilapidated roof crumbling above him. He didn't even realize he'd cried out until he heard George scrambling toward him stammering words of attempted comfort.

"I-it's alright. It's alright. I can get you out, yeah?"

The Doctor looked down at himself and found a large chunk of what looked like either the staircase or a long piece of the ceiling lying across his legs, pinning him underneath. is attempts at movement only gave him a dull ache in his legs, especially the left, and a sense of growing dread and fear.

George knelt beside him and put his hands under the concrete or stone, whatever the enormous thing was made of. The Doctor knew before the boy even tried lifting that it wouldn't shift.

George rested his hands on his knees, eyes darting across the large, unmovable object. "Maybe; maybe my dad can help. He's really strong. He'll be here in a minute, probably."

George met the Doctor's eyes. "We'll-we'll get you out."

The Doctor took a deep breath, trying to calm his rising nerves, and licked his lips. "George, you have to get out of here. It's not safe. The ceiling-"

"No," George stated firmly. He shook his head. "You stayed with me, now I'll stay with you."

The Doctor forced his eyebrows to look fiercer. "George, find your parents and run. The whole building could come crashing down."

George twiddled his fingers, but held the Doctor's gaze unblinkingly. "You're 'gift of persuasion' doesn't work on me, Doctor. I'm not just going to leave you here."

The Doctor shut his eyes, leaning his head back. The ache was more noticable now, running up and down his legs. Whether it was for the best or not, though, he couldn't seem to feel his lower left shin and foot. Another wave of panic crashed through his system, but he managed to stop it with a slow, deep breath.

George put his hand on the Doctor's shoulder and then glanced up, searching the room. Nobody was there. Where were they? Where were his parents? Why wasn't there anyone helping him?

"Is anyone there?" He called, his voice cracking. He was just a kid; he didn't know what to do in a situation like this. Only what he'd read in stories and newspapers.

"Doctor," he said, turning down to his companion again. "Do you; do you need anything?"

The Doctor creased his brow. "Like what?"

"I don't...I don't know."

George turned away sharply. The Doctor lifted a hand and gently placed it on the boy's shoulder. "Hey, George. It's okay." He smiled until he knew George had seen it. "It's okay. I'll be fine; I promise."

George wiped his eyes in his sleeve and looked up. Suddenly his face brightened. "Mom! Father!"

The Doctor turned as far as he could to watch George embrace his parents, two worried people in their pajamas stepping off of the staircase. His mother reprimanded her son for leaving their room even as she kissed him. The Doctor couldn't help but smile.

George turned to his father and then down to the Doctor. "Father, there's a man-the Doctor. He helped me when the earthquake hit but now he's trapped."

The boy and his father looked over the Doctor's situation. Suddenly the Timelord was a bit self-conscious; guilty even. All of these humans concerned with him when they should be running off to save themselves. He tried to push off the piece by himself, if just to show George's father that he was trying. All it earned him was a sharp pain that made him cry out and scare George.

"Father, we have to help him!" George cried.

"Alright George; alright."

George and his father went to the heavy piece of concrete. "On three, George."

They lifted with all their might, but the young boy and his musician father weren't able to even shift it. They tried once more before George's father backed away, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. George cast worried eyes to his parents and then to the Doctor.

"What do we do?"

His father breathed heavily, worn out. George glanced around, but they were the last ones left. His father noticed his anxiety and put a hand on his shoulder. "We can find a firefighter. They must be here by now."

George shook his head. "I don't want to leave him here. What if the ceiling comes down?"

The Doctor sat up as much as he could, blinking the stars out of his eyes. "George, it's alright. Get yourself safe. I'll be fine."

George paused, biting his lip. "Promise?"

A flash of a grin crossed the Doctor's face. "Promise. Hey, get me one of those apples, eh?"

George smiled despite himself, but dropped it once his parents started pulling him away. "We'll send someone right away."

The Doctor nodded as the boy hurried outside with his parents, and then dropped his head back onto the hard floor beneath him. He shut his eyes to keep the filtering dust out of them.

All he could think about was Clara. Was she safe? Was she trapped, as he was? What if she wasn't okay? He'd promised her a relaxing trip to the theatre. Shouldn't she be here by now? He had to get out. He had to find her.

The Doctor pulled at his leg again, but it didn't budge. The stone was too heavy, pinning him between its immense weight and the unmovable floor. Panic started rising in his stomach again as his mind wandered over his situation. His hearts were racing. He was breathing too fast.

Footsteps echoed beside him, silencing his rapid, anxious thoughts. Before he could look up to see who it was, a gentle hand was taking his own.

"Doctor," Clara breathed. Her voice seemed to make all of his pain go away instantly.

He opened his eyes to find her face framed by the jagged hole in the ceiling, giving her a halo. The Doctor smiled. "Clara."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Clara's wet eyes danced across his form, landing on his legs with a gasp as she realized that the left was pinned under the immense slab of broken stone.

"It's okay," the Doctor reassured. She threw him look. "Okay, it's not great."

Clara rubbed her thumb over his hand, silent. The Doctor looked at their intertwined fingers and smiled. "Now would be a good time for Jean Valjean to come lift this thing off me."

"What?"

Clara's face almost became joyful. The Doctor's smile widened. "You know, like with the man under the cart?"

"You read Les Mis?"

"Yeah. You were sleeping; you always said how much you loved it, so I figured I should read it."

Clara let herself smile, infinitesimally. "What did you think?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to respond, but his expression turned sharply into a grimace as a wave of pain hit him. He shut his eyes, and Clara massage his shoulder.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't have to talk," she said, glancing around herself. The situation was abruptly coming back to her, their happy little conversation over just as it had begun.

The Doctor opened his eyes again only to focus on a spot behind Clara. His jaw dropped. "Clara…"

She turned and found smoke filtering into the space, a light gray that seemed already to be gathering thickly. "Is that…?" She asked into the empty air.

A man ran into the atrium wearing a long jacket and a hard hat. He hurried over to Clara and the Doctor as soon as he saw them.

"A pipe burst during the earthquake; started a fire. It's happening all over. The whole city is burning."

Clara looked down at the Doctor. He was still utterly stuck. She gave the fireman her widest eyes. "He's trapped."

The man shuffled from one foot to another, glancing over to where the smoke was entering the room. It was growing darker by the second. "The rest of my team's on their way. But ma'am, you should probably get out. It could get really dangerous in here soon."

Clara tightened her hold on the Doctor's hand. "I can't leave him."

"Clara," the Doctor muttered. She leaned in closer to him, a fire dancing in her eyes.

"Doctor, I am not going to leave you in danger. You know I won't."

The Doctor leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. Yes, he knew his impossible girl perfectly. If she had to climb a mountain to help someone she cared about, she would do it unblinkingly. He just wished right now that she hadn't chosen him to care about.

"Clara, you'll be safer outside. I'll be fine; I promise. If worst comes to worst-"

"Don't say that." The fire in her eyes was replaced with unshed tears. The Doctor regretted his last sentence immediately. "Don't you dare say that, Doctor."

The firefighter glanced warily over his shoulder and let out a breath. As Clara and the Doctor stared deeply into each other's eyes, communicating ten different things at once, he waved his team over.

One of the firefighters put his hands on Clara's shoulders. "Ma'am, why don't you come with me?"

Clara opened her mouth to protest, but the Doctor gave her an encouraging nod. "I'll be with you in a minute, Clara."

Clara let the fireman help her to her feet. "And then we'll have that discussion about Les Mis, yeah?"

"With tea and cakes," the Doctor added. They shared a small smile before locking eyes again. "Be safe, Clara."

She didn't respond, merely sucked in a shaky breath. The fireman led her away from the scene and out of the atrium. When the outdoor breeze hit her face, she suddenly realized how difficult it had been to breathe in there; how thick the smoke really was inside. For a second, she almost broke away and ran in to be with the Doctor again.

Instead, she let the firefighter bring her to a spot on the opposite sidewalk where other hotel visitors were sitting, watching the building they'd been sleeping in mere minutes before crumble and blaze. Half of them m, including Clara, were still in their pajamas, but she hardly cared to think about it. Heavily, she leaned against a nearby building for support.

'Oh God, please let him be alright,' she thought silently.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Father, how long are they going to take?"

"I don't know, George," a man said, a few meters from where Clara stood staring blankly at the hotel entrance.

The man's son stood on tip-toe, holding onto his father's hand tightly. "We told them about the Doctor ages ago."

Clara's head perked up. Suddenly she focused on the conversation between the boy and his father. She watched as a woman approached them and put a hand on the boy, George's, shoulder.

"I'm sure they're trying their best."

George let go of his father's hand, crossing his arms in anxious agitation. His parents gave each other silent looks.

Clara found herself walking toward them before she even thought about it.

"Er, excuse me. Did you mention the Doctor?"

The woman smiled politely. "Yes. George, what was his name again?"

George leaned against the building behind him. "Just the Doctor," he mumbled. Clara turned to him

"I-I know him. He's my friend."

George picked his head up. "Really?"

Clara nodded, feeling tears blink into her eyes. "Yeah. Best friend. He...he was stuck. But the firefighters are getting him out now."

George nodded. His eyes were wide and welcoming to this new information. "He only stayed with me because I asked. I…"

George broke off. His mother wrapped her arms around him and his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," the older man said. "Don't blame yourself. He's a good man and he chose to help you. He decided to stay."

George nodded, but still looked doubtful. Clara let a flash of a smile cross her face. "He's always doing things like that. He never thinks about himself. As much as it drives me crazy...it's what makes him...him."

She knelt beside the boy, fractionally. "I'm sure he's going to be fine. He...he promised."

She knew she was reassuring herself as much as George and his family, but it felt good to say it out loud. The Doctor was going to be fine. The Doctor was always fine.

As good as it made her feel, it also sent shivers down her spine. What if today was the exception to the rule? What if today, he didn't make it out unscathed?

Clara shook her head of these thoughts immediately as sounds came from the hotel. Two firefighters were exiting, black smoke trailing in their wake, through the door. In between them lay…

"Doctor!" Clara practically shouted. She surged forward to follow the men. George made to join her, but his parents held him back.

"George," his mother said quietly. "Let's give him some space for a minute. I promise we'll check on them later, okay? He might need some medical care first."

George agreed, slackening against the wall again.

As Clara neared the firefighters, she felt her heart pump louder and louder in her ears. They were carrying him on a stretcher to an empty spot down the street. How injured was he? Why couldn't he walk by himself?

They set him down and Clara hurried beside them, kneeling at the Doctor's head. She put out a hand before anyone could shoo her away.

"I was staying with him. We're…"

What were they exactly?

"We're…"

The firefighter closest to her rested a big glove on her arm. "Take a deep breath. You can stay with him as long as you want. None of us are gonna chase you away."

He turned to his partner. "We need a paramedic over here. Dave, can you get someone?"

The other man disappeared with a nod.

Clara looked down at the Doctor for the first time, worrying her bottom lip over his condition. He was unconscious, his face was dirtied with dark gray ash, and his breathing was raspy and irregular. She hadn't found the courage to look at his leg yet.

The firefighter wiped his brow. "He took in a lot of smoke. And I don't know how injured that leg is. But he's breathing. His heart rate was a bit odd. Is that…?"

"He has a heart condition. Just, er, he was born like that," Clara lied, almost automatically.

The firefighter gave her a small smile. "Well, he seems very strong. Most people can't handle smoke like that for as long as he did. And coupled with that concrete sitting on him...he's a fighter."

Clara took hold of the Doctor's hand. His was completely limp. Fresh tears found their way down her face, yet again. Today felt like three days rolled into one, and the sun was just risen.

She locked her eyes on the Doctor's face, praying for his eyes to open and for him to miraculously be completely fine. He seemed calmer, though, somehow; lying here on the sidewalk outside of a burning building. His face was softer; less agitated. He didn't look so much like a two thousand year old alien who always carried the world on his shoulders.

Across from Clara and the firefighter, a newly arrived paramedic knelt down. "What's his name?"

Clara's exhausted mind didn't even care to think of something clever. "He usually just likes to be called 'Doctor'."

The paramedic took this with a simple, accepting smile. "I can do that. And what's your name?"

"Clara."

"Hello Clara, I'm Charlie." He turned to the firefighter. "Tom, can you fill me in?"

Charlie began looking over the Doctor, tilting his chin this way and that and listening to his troubled breathing, as Tom the firefighter explained the situation to him. When they were both finished, Charlie started opening the medical bag he'd brought over.

"Heart condition? Clara, do you know more than that?"

Clara's eyes inflated for a second, but she focused on the Doctor and simply shook her head. "He's pretty private."

Charlie nodded. We'll get him to a safer spot and take a look at that leg." He turned to Tom. "Are thy setting up those med tents yet?"

Clara gazed at the Doctor as the two men talked. His eyes flickered under closed lids; dreaming. His skin was still so ashen, and, also, ash-covered. Grayer than his curly hair. She wanted desperately to get some water and clean his face. Make him new again; like this tragedy had never happened.

Charlie's voice entered her ear as her eyes blurred with more unwanted tears.

"Clara, we're going to carry him over there, alright? Then we'll set his leg, maybe give him some oxygen."

Clara nodded, sitting back to clear a space for the men to work. Tom went to where she has been knelt over the Doctor and lifted up half of the stretcher like it weighed nothing. Clara felt her heart drop as the Doctor's arm drooped limply beside him. 'Wake up, Doctor,' she muttered silently to herself. 'Wake up and stop this.'

Tom took the other side and the men quickly made their way through the small crowd forming. Clara followed them, in a daze, to a makeshift tent on the sidewalk, filled with worried but confident nurses and doctors. The tent was only big enough to fit three raised stretchers. Charlie and Tom set the Doctor on the third in this one. He was the only patient still unconscious.

'Please, Doctor.'

Charlie helped Clara to a seat beside the Doctor, close enough so she could hold his hand tightly in her own as the doctor and his aides worked. Clara tried to pay attention to their words, but she lost them quickly. She'd never been very good at biology. She could only pray she could keep up the 'heart condition' act.

Charlie suddenly appeared opposite Clara. He leaned over the Doctor and listened to his breathing with a troubled frown. He looked up at the nearest nurse. "Not doing much better. Let's give him some oxygen."

Charlie disappeared back to the Doctor's leg as the nurse set an oxygen mask on the Doctor's face. Clara squeezed his hand. The nurse gave her a warm smile.

"Don't worry yourself too much. He'll be alright," the nurse said.

Clara glanced up at her for a second before darting her eyes back to the Doctor. He looked even worse, somehow, with the old fashioned oxygen mask on his face. She adjusted how she was seated and looked down at his leg. Charlie was wrapping what looked like the tenth layer of bandages around his left shin. His pants were rolled up to his knee on that side to give the doctor room to work.

"Is it broken?" She asked. Her voice sounded odd, like she hadn't spoken in ages.

Charlie paused; let himself breathe. "No. Came close, though. Shouldn't spend too much time on it for a little while."

Clara nodded, filing the information away for later. Charlie wiped his hands and got to his feet.

"Well, I better be getting back to the hotel. More people will be needing me. I hope everything works out, Clara." He shook her hand and looked at the Doctor. "Keep an eye on him. And tell him I'll be thinking of him."

Clara nodded with a small smile, and Charlie left the tent. The nurses went off to their other charges and left her, finally, on her own with the Doctor. He was still unconscious, but breathing better. His chest rose and fell more evenly. His face seemed to have more color, too. Clara squeezed his hand again.

He squeezed back, gently. Her wide eyes flitted to his face and watched his eyelids flutter and then open. His eyebrows drew together in a question, and then creased in pain. Clara put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay. They got you out."

Her words calmed him, and he eased the tension in his muscles. As he gained consciousness, he brought a hand to his face; touched the mask with his fingers. Clara put her hand on his.

"You breathed in a lot of smoke."

He tilted his head at her and she almost smiled at the expression he somehow managed even beneath that mask and beneath all of the exhaustion.

"They want you to keep it on until they know you're okay."

He rolled his eyes and turned to the ceiling. Clara let herself smile and helped him take the mask off.

"If I hear one breath I don't like, you're putting it back on."

The Doctor coughed to clear his throat. Clara turned to one of the nurses. "Is there any water in here?"

The nurse, Rita, handed her a cup full of the life-giving liquid, which Clara brough to the Doctor's face. He almost rolled his eyes again.

"Come on, big bad Timelord. I don't want you hurting your leg to sit up."

He kept his mouth closed in rebellion. Now Clara rolled her eyes. "Let me take care of you. Just this once."

He relented, letting her cup the back of his neck and raise his head enough to pour the water ino his mouth. As she held the cup, he put his hand around hers; one small act of independence. She allowed it with a smile.

When he was laid back down, she took his hand again and stared at their intertwined fingers. She didn't have words. Neither of them did. So they stayed silent.

That is, until a familiar face came hurrying into the tent.

"Doctor!" George shouted with a smile. His joy disippated as he noticed the Doctor's bandaged leg and the ash still covering his face and hair.

The Doctor smiled, sitting up and hiding the pain it caused him.

"How's my favorite counter-capitalist?"

George grinned, but looked at his shoes, kicking the dirt. "I'm sorry I left. I...my parents…I wanted to stay; I did."

"Are you kidding? You got the firefighters. If you hadn't left, they never would've found me."

George met the Doctor's eyes again. "Yeah?"

"You should get a badge. Hero of San Francisco, how does that sound?"

George smirked. "I'm not really 'of' anywhere. Life on the road, remember?"

Clara looked at the Doctor. "Reminds me of someone."

They each gabe each other one last smile before George dashed out, wishing the Doctor well. Clara nudged his arm as soon as the boy was gone.

"You just can't help turning people into heroes, can you?"

The Doctor's face became almost pensive. "I don't make anyone a hero. They already are. I'm just an idiot who attracts them. God knows why."

Clara quirked her eyebrow at him, and then leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Nah, you're one of the heroes."

The Doctor shook his head. Clara nudged him again. "You're my hero."

He looked up at her and chuckled. "Really? Even now when I'm lying here with ashes on my face and my leg covered in bandages because the ceiling fell on me?"

Clara kept her eyes locked on his, her lips turning up into a gentle smile. "Especially now."

 **There will be at least one more chapter, don't worry! Please let me know what you thought and have a wonderful day. Thank you so much for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ash. Crashing debris. Blurred vision. Worried voices surrounding him. A sudden cough that tugged at his chest. The voices were growing more urgent. His hearts were racing. Faster and faster and faster...

"Doctor!"

The Doctor's eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly; perhaps too abruptly. A pain shot up his still healing leg. Breathing heavily, he looked around the space. Still in that same little tent. Clara's wide eyes were directly in front of his own. Behind her, he saw two of the nurses share worried glances.

Clara squeezed his hand, bringing him back to focus.

"It's alright," she cooed, rubbing his shoulder. "You're safe. Just a nightmare." Just a nightmare."

He nodded; swallowed. Of course he was alright. He was the Doctor; he was always alright.

His hearts were still hammering in his chest.

Clara looked down and brought something up in her hand with a smile.

"I got some breakfast while you were sleeping."

He found an enormous blueberry muffin in her hand. He felt his heartbeat slow, just a little.

"How is it out there?" He managed casually. His lips were calming from their previous tremble.

Clara glanced at the tent opening. "A bit chaotic, but there are a lot of people helping out."

The Doctor broke off a small piece of the muffin and swallowed it with a smile. "Good old humans."

Clara nudged him with her knee. "You sound more optimistic than usual." She was sitting on the bed beside him, one leg folded and the other reaching down to touch the floor.

"It's been quite a day."

Clara looked down at her hands and took some of the muffin herself. She sniffled as she swallowed.

"I was…" she started. She ultimately decided against whatever she wanted to say. Instead, she turned to one of the nurses. "Mottie; when do you think we'll be able to leave?"

The nearest nurse, Mottie, turned around. "Oh, you can leave whenever you'd like. But you might want to wait for that pair of crutches Bridget went to get. That leg'll be hard to walk on for a while."

The Doctor shifted his body up as if to prove her wrong, but winced as his left leg was jostled. Clasa patted his hand. "Take it easy."

The Doctor shut his eyes for a moment. An image of fire and falling concrete suddenly hit him. He opened his eyes again, wide and anxious. Clara gave him a baffled look under furrowed eyebrows until the other nurse, Bridget, came casting a shadow over her.

"I brought you these crutches from the hospital," she said to the Doctor. "They should be about the right size. Oh, and don't worry about returning them; we're about to order a bunch anyway. Just make sure to take care of that leg."

"Will do," the Doctor said with a plastered-on smile. It was enough to satisfy Bridget, who quickly disappeared to her other patient. The Doctor began shifting again as soon as she was gone. Clara put a hand on his.

"Wait; are you sure you're ready for that?"

The Doctor almost groaned. "Clara; you know me. I'll be fine by the end of the day. I want to get back to the, er...I want to get home."

Clara bit her bottom lip, but stood so he could get off the bed. He tested his bandaged leg at first, moving it carefully over the bed. Then he lowered it to the floor with gritted teeth, leaning heavily on his crutches. He set them beneath his arms and leaned forward before Clara put a hand on his chest.

"Wait; let me help."

He let her put a hand on his back as he got shakily to his feet. Instantly, he lifted his injured leg off of the floor slightly, leaning on his other and the Clara pulled her hands away from him slowly as he steadied himself.

The Doctor turned up to the entrance of the tent. "Back to the TARDIS?"

Clara turned a quick eye up to him. "After we find coffee somewhere."

"Of course," he quipped, his lips quirking into a smile.

They started outside, Clara watching him like a hawk. There was something in her eyes that made it look like she wanted to say something, but she always shook her head before voicing whatever it was. The Doctor let her keep her silence.

. . . . . .

They sat in the TARDIS console an hour later. A future cast of Carmen sang in the background. The Doctor sat on the flight chair, his crutches leaned against the rail beside him. He was looking through a new copy of Les Mis, rereading with slightly damp eyes.

Clara watched him from her spot on the bottom two steps. Her foot was tapping up and down, her hands wiping together repeatedly. She was chewing her lip furiously, and the Doctor could tell from his worried glances that she was bothered. He let her keep her silence again, hoping that he was right in doing so.

A moment later, Clara finally relented. "Doctor," she started. The Timelord picked his head up swiftly.

"Yes?"

Clara wiped at her eyes. The Doctor shut his book and set it on the floor beneath him, wincing as his leg was jostled.

Clara shook her head, looking away. She opened her mouth to respond, but instead just let out a shaky sigh. The Doctor sat up straighter.

"Clara?"

She met his eyes again, and took a deep breath. "It's all hitting me now."

The Doctor gave her a tiny smile; looked down. "I'm fine. We both are."

"I know," she said, too quick for comfort. She grimaced in a sort of apology for her sharp tone. "But earlier...you really had me worried for a minute there."

She looked down, her face blushing dark pink.

The Doctor leaned forward, trying to catch her eye again. "You don't need to worry about me. Worrying is my job."

She smiled. "I can't help it, can I? You're my best friend. And...you were really hurt today. You could've been killed."

The word sent shivers down both of their spines. The Doctor blinked rapidly to clear his head. "I know."

Clara picked her head up and they locked eyes once again. Hers were leaking, out of her control. She wiped the tears away with her sleeve and breathed harshly. "Sorry. Maybe I should go sit alone for a little while."

"No," he said quickly. He eased his tense muscles and added, "I...I don't want to be alone."

Clara shut her eyes. "Of course you don't. God, I'm sorry."

"Not quite."

"What?" Clara's eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm not quite God-status yet."

Clara let out a brief chuckle, but it was enough. Suddenly the air didn't feel so heavy between them.

Clara pointed at the book still sitting on the floor beneath the Doctor's feet. "You know, there's a really good musical based on that book."

The Doctor looked down and smiled at the novel. "We should watch it sometime."

Clara stared at him for a second, and then suddenly stood and went to his side. She put her arm around his shoulder and he froze still, waiting to see what she was doing, but she simply stayed there for a moment. Then she rested her head on his and pecked a kiss on the top of his curls.

"I'm really glad you're alright, Doctor."

The Doctor didn't know what to say, so he rested a hand on hers, which still sat on his shoulder.

A foreign tear blinked into the Doctor's eye, but he let it fall down his cheek.

They'd been through a day, it was true. And soon enough all of that would hit him like a speeding train. But for now, he was just happy. Happy to have his Clara. Happy to be alive.

Happy to be on steady ground again.

 **Thank you so much for reading!**


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

The credits began rolling down the screen as the sounds of triumphant music still echoed through the dark, empty lounge. Clara clicked off the TV with a slight shrug. "I always preferred the stage version, but that's just me…"

Her eye found the Doctor, still staring at the dark screen, his mouth agape. Tears were running tracks down his face. Clara tried her best to commit this image to memory. The big bad Timelord reduced to tears from a musical. Mr. 'She cares so I don't have to.' Oh how things had changed.

Silently, Clara grabbed a tissue from her coffee table and held it out for him. He blinked rapidly and gave her an incredulous look, rubbing his hands together.

"I didn't sneeze Clara. I don't need a tissue."

Clara smirked. "What got you? The finale?"

The Doctor shook his head. Clara nudged his arm. "C'mon; I'm only joking. What'd you think?"

The Doctor nodded. "It was better than Carmen."

Clara smiled. "Yeah; maybe." She shifted her position on the sofa. "Hey, we should go there sometime."

"Revolutionary France?"

Clara chuckled. "We could explore the sewer system."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Honestly, why did Victor Hugo spend two pages describing the sewers?"

Clara poked his arm. "You should ask him!"

The Doctor smiled in reply, but looked down at his bandaged leg propped up on an ottoman and sobered. "Maybe some other time."

Clara leaned her head on his shoulder. "You'll be back to travelling and everything by tomorrow probably."

"What if I'm not?"

The way he asked it sent a jolt of pity through Clara. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was scared. She merely shrugged in response, keeping the mood light.

"Then we'll figure out how to travel on one leg."

"We?"

Clara pushed off his shoulder. "You don't think I'd leave you to take care of yourself, do you?"

The Doctor shook his head and looked down. Clara intertwined her fingers with his and smiled. "Can't trust you on your own anyway."

"No?"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Have you seen you? You got into this mess after a few hours while I was asleep. Lord only knows what would happen if I left you by yourself for a week. You'd probably get stuck on Mars."

"Or Jupiter."

"You'd get lost getting a liter of milk from the shop down the street!"

The Doctor grinned. "You're probably right."

Clara sat up straight and checked the time. "I've got work tomorrow. Should get to sleep."

The Doctor made to stand up, but Clara held him down with a firm hand over his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to the TARDIS."

Clara looked him over. Some ash he neglected to wash off still curled around his ear, meeting a few scratches from glass or whatever the hell had hit him earlier.

"Why don't you stay here tonight? You can take the couch; or my bed if it's more comfortable."

The Doctor's cheeks flushed pink, but he cleared his throat. "I'll stay here."

Clara smiled and got to her feet. "I'll grab a pillow and a blanket for you." She held up a finger. "And don't move that leg too much while I'm gone."

The Doctor gave her a quick obliging smile and leaned back into the sofa with an arm behind his his head. He shut his eyes easily. No image of fear or fire or pain flashed into his mind. Instead, he heard the music of a French rebellion; the soft echoes of hardship that has been overcome and pain that has dissipated.

Silently, he thanked the universe that Clara was alright. And he was alright. And they had moments together still to come.

"Even the darkest night shall end and the sun will rise."


End file.
